Hi. I’m Mycophobic. Do you fear mushrooms, too, the way they pop out of the earth like an alien from a scientist’s stomach? Also, I’m a cuticle biter. Screw biting your nails—that’s for sissies. If you can master the delicate art of biting a cuticle in one thin strip without bleeding, you’re a winner in my book.

In my book, if you write “your” when you mean “you are,” then you should be shunned. I’m sorry. Likewise, if you adorn your prose with semi-colons the way mob wives wear jewelry, then move right along; we can’t be friends.

I am at my most brilliant while taking a shower. Under a cool spray on a summer afternoon, I figured out how to explain deconstruction in three words: “Hotel. No Roaches.” I mean, the sign says they don’t have roaches, but if you gotta advertise that fact, then I’m not checking in. You probably have mushrooms growing in the carpet, too. Sheesh.